


Callooh-Callay

by wearethewitches



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adult Sarah Williams (Labyrinth), Dream Sex, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Gen, Jareth (Labyrinth) has Sibling(s), Kings & Queens, Magic, Magic-Users, Matriarchal society, Names, Seelie Court, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unseelie Court, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When Sarah joins the dream of the Goblin King one fateful, they unintendedly create life. Sarah shortly finds herself in the Underground, Champion of the Labyrinth and Queen of the Goblin Kingdom - all without Jareth knowing the truth, that they belong to each other and that there is a child in the first place.But when that same child is later abducted by the Unsidhe Court to be sacrificed at their Stone Table, Sarah must seek help from her daughter's father - while Jareth himself must find a way to escape an arranged marriage ordered by the High Queen. Facing the loss of the Goblin Kingdom, let alone a daughter, is something he's not willing to do.Can they help each other on their quests? Can a spark flare between two long-lost rivals? Will the Goblin Child be saved?





	Callooh-Callay

Thirteen years after a boy is retrieved from the Castle on the Hill, where the Labyrinth circles Goblin City, Sarah Williams dreams of a cavern.

It is a dark cavern, except where the walls drip silver and glisten, glowing. Sarah cranes her neck to see the ceiling, however, even the liquid moonlight pouring across the walls is not bright enough to let her judge the height of it.

“Where am I?” she asks aloud, listening as her voice refuses to echo, alarming her. Sarah thinks herself an imaginative being, when she is not elbow-deep in dusty boxes organising centuries-old bank records, thinking in straight lines and numerical figures – but she does not have the ego any more to think she could so easily dream of the pureness of an echoless cave, inspiring a fear that digs down deep into the marrow of her bones.

The silver on the walls suddenly seems toxic. Sarah fears it will fall from the ceiling like rain, that it will poison her or choke her. But there is only stillness, which makes her feel a strange mixture of relief and suspended terror.

Sarah crouches down, touching the floor. It’s black, sandy and almost warm, at odds with everything she knows of geology – the air itself is cool, not quite cold. _There’s no volcano keeping the ground hot,_ she thinks, biting her lip in thought.

The edges of the cavern are far from her and she is not in the centre – no, that privilege belongs to a bowl-like lake that can’t be naturally-formed, full of gleaming light. Her heart races and Sarah digs her nail into her thumb, but she does not wake from this nightmare.

“Where am I?” she asks again, louder this time. The black sand falls between her fingers as she fills her fist with it. “Where am I? What has brought me here?”

“That is what I was going to ask _you_ , precious.”

Sarah whips around, standing up straight. The sand in her fist falls to the ground again as her eyes widen, for in front of her is a familiar figure. Dressed in little more than a pair of knee-length drawers, the Sidhe in front of her looks like he just stepped out of bed for a midnight glass of wine, face drab without his sparkling make-up and his hair tied back in a loose ribbon. But his eyes gleam like the walls and he looks fey, teeth crooked and sharp as he bares them at her, ears pointed like an elf’s.

“Jareth,” gasps Sarah, not expecting the Goblin King to lunge for her, arms wrapping around her stick-figure as a strange call rings through her that feels like the Labyrinth. She shrieks, but he is already speaking in her ear, one arm around her waist and the other carding through her loose hair, purposefully tangling them together.

“O Sarah, Queen of my Kingdom,” he hisses, anger palpable, “ _My Sarah._ You would intrude on my dreams, now? Me, the Dreamweaver and the Nightmare Maker. Your brazenness has always been attractive, but it is infuriating all the same!”

“Get your hands off me!” Sarah demands, hands pressing against his bare torso. But Jareth only pulls her closer, vicious. His nails are like claws, pressing through the thin silk of her nightgown – Sarah hadn’t even realised until now that she’s in the clothes she fell asleep in. _Is this truly a dream?_ She thinks, disturbed.

“No, I will not let you go again,” Jareth says, almost petulant. His anger fades and his grip loosens, though he doesn’t let her go. They stand there together in the cave and Sarah forgets about trying to escape his grasp, her hands settling against him, feeling the smoothness of his skin. He is different from other men she’s been with – for one, he has no hair over her chest, not even stubble.

“Is this a dream, Jareth?” Sarah asks him, voice quiet.

“We sleep, but our minds come together,” Jareth says dully, his nose burrowing into the crook of her neck. Sarah wriggles, unable to help the burst of girlish laughter that escapes her at the sensation. He chuckles lowly and the tone of the encounter changes. Sarah sighs, leaning back somewhat to escape the closeness of his embrace.

“Jareth,” she says, “Tell me how I am here?”

“You sleep. You dream.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, meeting his gaze as his head lifts. There is humour there and she waits for him to explain properly. He calmly enlightens her.

“This is the Cave of Dreams. It is where my waking mind goes when I deign to sleep. I do not often need to, unlike mortals such as yourself. Somehow, you are here with me. Perhaps my control is slipping and I summoned you – or mayhaps, you are a figment, a magic created by my creation, just for me. So lifelike a rendition…”

Sarah’s lip twitches. “I’m no figment, Goblin King. That does not explain why you’re holding onto me like I’m your own personal teddy-bear, though.”

In answer, his grip tightens again. He leans closer, their noses brushing. “I don’t see you complaining, my Sarah.”

“If you were listening earlier, you would have heard me,” she replies, wanting to sound ironic – but she whispers, instead. Their positions are odd to her, his hand locked in her hair and his arm around her like they’re lovers, like they’re boyfriend and girlfriend; but Sarah is twenty-nine and she’s yet to have any partner that has held her like this, as if she is the sole master of their attentions.

They breath the same air. Sarah briefly wonders at the naivety of her sixteen year old self, who stared at this marvellous specimen and didn’t automatically wonder what he looked like under his clothes. Bolstered by her own thoughts, Sarah moves even closer, pressing her lips to his. Immediately, Jareth begins to devour her. She gasps against him and then again, when he presses her hard against the sandy ground, blood rushing to her cheeks.

“O Sarah, Queen of my Kingdom,” Jareth whispers again against her skin, tearing her nightgown away before kissing her neck, her shoulder, her blushing breast. His supplications are filled with her name and Sarah cries out when he takes her sex in his mouth, the echoless cavern silent and still around them.

Jareth worships her, lavishing her with praise and promises that he is hers, that he is slave to her whims and wiles; Sarah lets him speak as he wishes, but she pays it no mind. He said it himself – this is a dream. They are both fooling themselves that this is real.

When she lays panting afterwards, he curls up at her side. He is quiet, a guardian of her body as she gathers her thoughts and decides what she wants. Sarah imagines her body in the real world, covered in sweat as she is now and aching with need low in her belly.

“Would you like to fuck me, Jareth?” she asks him, voice ragged. She looks at him, raising her hand to brush his cheek. He turns his head, kissing it and watching her with dark eyes as she sits up, undoing the laces of his drawers. “Would you?” she asks.

“I would,” Jareth replies lowly as she frees him, the King discarding his clothing as she parts her own legs, kneeling over him. His hands grip her thighs as she sinks down, rolling her hips.

 _I’ve thought of you,_ she thinks, _like this and in other ways, when I have not had nightmares of you. I remembered your eyes and your promises that still sound so wrong and false, even now._

“ _Oh_ ,” Jareth groans at a particular twist of her torso, “my Queen, my _Queen_.”

They come together, crying and shouting. Sarah’s vision goes hazy at the edges and she thinks, mildly, that while the sex was good, it wasn’t _that_ good. But then she realises that the dream is ending, the silver swirling on the walls in mesmerising circles.

“I’m leaving,” Sarah says moderately. Jareth beneath her takes her wrist in an instant.

“Don’t go,” he pleads, sitting up. Sarah almost falls off his lap, before he wraps her in his embrace. “Stay with me, Sarah, please stay. Come to the Underground, live with me in the Castle on the Hill-”

“I’m leaving,” she interrupts him, knowing she’s made a mistake when she sees his eyes fill with fire. He snarls, his grip on her wrist tightening. Sarah tries to tug it away, but he holds fast. “Jareth, stop, you’re going to leave bruises-”

“You don’t belong there,” he spits, “up there in the Above. The Underground will drag you down eventually, Sarah. There’s no escaping it.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Sarah says coldly, before the haziness turns to silver. She still feels his grip on her when she wakes in her bed, damp and shivering. She looks to her wrist, somehow not surprised to see the redness of Jareth’s fingers that will turn to yellow and blue bruising the next day.

Sarah continues on with her life. She tries to forget the lurid experience, burying herself in ledgers and paperwork at the town hall and forgoing sleep. The occasional comment on her appearance pops up – _you’re looking awful there, Sarah; are you alright, Sarah; getting enough sleep, Sarah?_

She waffles on about a ‘good book’ she’d read during one of the nights she went without sleeping at all, up until she falls ill. She’s sick – then she’s sick some more and then again and again. Her gut settles cold in her stomach when the pregnancy test shows up positive.

 _Looks like it wasn’t much of a dream after all,_ she thinks, feeling a foreboding.

“So,” Toby frowns over his cereal when she tells him, “I’m going to be an uncle?”

“Yes,” Sarah lays her head on her crossed arms, watching her brother ponder that. She has her own house, but she still finds herself looking after Toby in their old family home when her dad and Karen go out. “Toby?”

“Yeah, Sarah?”

“Don’t- don’t tell anyone,” she asks, voice cracking. Her eyes unexpectedly fill with tears and Toby’s spoon falls back into his bowl with a clatter, his expression scandalised.

“Why are you crying?” he exclaims, rushing to the other side of the table. His arms wrap around her shoulders and Sarah bursts into tears. “Sarah, you never cry, why are you crying? Did something happen? Did- is this because you’re having a baby?”

“Oh Toby,” she sobs, wiping at her face and looking up at him. He’s grown so tall since his thirteen hours in the Underground – he’s all arms and legs with knobbly elbows and a pointy chin, his hair turned a strawberry blonde that goes auburn in the winter. They look nothing alike, except their noses – Sarah has always taken after her own mother in looks and Toby is a replica of Karen’s father, when he was young.

Her brother looks at her with a trembling lip. “Sar- Sarah, were you attacked?”

“No,” Sarah shakes her head, “No, Toby. But I don’t want him to know. Ever.”

“Who is he?” Toby asks, expression fierce. Sarah refuses to tell him, even when he pleads and when he threatens to tell their father. Sarah shakes her head firmly and eventually, Toby goes off to school, leaving her alone to her thoughts in a house full of memories. She _wants_ for the security of the Labyrinth, then, knowing it is chaos incarnate and that alone would hide her from prying eyes.

She wanders up to her old bedroom. Inside is a plain, unremarkable guest room – Karen’s work, no doubt. Sarah had taken her old armoire with her when she finally moved into her own place across town, after college and years away from her friends. She had been so very sorry, sure that Hoggle would have been unreasonably hurt by her abandonment, even though she’d told him in advance that she was going – and when she looked into her armoire again, calling out to her friends in the Labyrinth through the enchanted mirror, Sarah had even prepared an apology speech.

They hadn’t replied. The mirror was no longer a portal to the Underground. It somehow hurt more than the thought of never seeing her friends again.

Stepping into the plain, unremarkable guest room, Sarah feels a frisson under her skin like static. She flinches, but peers curiously around. Somehow, she relaxes. That very action alerts her to the absurdity of her feelings – boring rooms barren of life shouldn’t be producing static or _relaxing_ her.

“Maybe…” she whispers, an idea forming as she gathers all these facts. _Maybe the portal never left my room._

Sarah steps over to where her armoire had stood, imagining it still there and welcoming her to the Labyrinth. Sarah had never tried going through herself – why would she? But Sarah had never questioned the existence of the magic mirror, either, that would stretch large and wide enough that even Ludo could fit through with ease.

Her hand rises, feeling that static again. There’s a song in her mind, suddenly, like the Fireys Song and the laughter of the Truth-and-Lies Doors, like the turning of a tile and a goblin inside a tin suit. She gasps, before practically _diving_ forwards through the invisible portal, her parent’s home disappearing from around her to be replaced by sandy brick and a cherry tree in full bloom.

Sarah sits up, eyes wide as she looks out on the structure laid out in front of her.

“I’m- I’m in the Labyrinth,” she whispers in wonder, before her eyes are drawn to her nearer surroundings. It shocks her to see greener grass than before and the cherry tree instead of a spindly husk. A meadow full of wildflowers tumbles down the hill leading to the outside of the Labyrinth and it calls to her like a siren song.

Sarah can see it all, in her mind’s eye. The Labyrinth goes on almost forever, full of traps and pitfalls, clever creatures and inhabitants who are kinder to strangers than they should be. The Labyrinth wraps them all in a cocoon of love and _home_.

“You’re beautiful,” Sarah whispers, _feeling_ more than hearing the Labyrinth’s joyous reply. For a while she sits there, dazzled, staring out onto the place that she conquered. _My kingdom as great_ , she thinks distantly, hearing the chime of bells behind her and the huffs of an animal.

Slowly, she comes from her thoughts, twisting around where she kneels on the tiles to see a dark-skinned rider on a brown stallion. They peer at her curiously, dressed in faded riding leathers and a green cloak – a man of some sort, whose very presence tastes like earth and the wind flowing through a forest.

“Ho there,” he says, clutching the reins of his horse. “I am the Wyldfae of this Hill. You are trespassing if you do not come here with my patron, the Goblin King.”

“I- I am lost,” Sarah says, lying. She regrets it as soon as she says it – but the Wyldfae seems unconcerned, perhaps even confused.

“Lost?” he says, “How can you be lost, milady? Where do you tether yourself?”

 _Tether,_ she thinks, mind abuzz. Her eyes peer at the Wyldfae, noting his eldritch eyes, young as they are and the points of his ears. _He is like Jareth – but he is no king. He called him his patron._

The Wyldfae comes down from his horse, walking closer and kneeling in front of her, looking at her like she is delicate or fragile. He holds his hands out, palms up and Sarah hesitates only a moment before taking them. There is immediately a concert of noise in her head, the Labyrinth calling out to this Wyldfae on her behalf.

He gapes. “My Queen?” he addresses her, baffled.

Sarah swallows, panic rising. “What do I call you?” she asks him.

“Your Majesty, I am the Wyldfae of Clock Hill, known as Thirteen for the hours my King gives the Runners of the Labyrinth,” the Wyldfae, Thirteen, says to her, still utterly confounded by her existence. He bows his head low, kissing her hands. “It is an honour to be in your presence, my Queen.”

“I did not mean to come here,” Sarah confides, scared. “Thirteen, I do not want to see the King – do not tell him I was here, ever. Please.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” he says, voice full of awe and his silver eyes bright. “You are the Queen Who Is of the Goblin Kingdom, Champion of the Labyrinth and my liege until you pass on your crown. I feel the Call of the Wyldfae. I am yours, my Queen.”

Sarah squeezes his hands.

“Thirteen,” she says, trepidation audible, “I am going to be honest with you. I have no idea what any of that means. Can you explain it to me?”

“You-” Thirteen startles, “You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly…from here,” Sarah takes one of her hands back, tucking her hair behind her rounded ear. Thirteen blinks, before peering in interest.

“I knew you were the Champion…but seeing is believing, as the mortals say,” he murmurs. “I understand, my Queen. Though if I might add, I know the King’s courtiers would be able to provide a better education than I.”

“You’ll do, don’t worry,” Sarah assures him, before finally standing, knees numb from leaning on the paving stones so long. Thirteen leads her to his horse and Sarah is glad she used to ride as a girl, for if she hadn’t, she’d surely be wary of the animal’s large teeth and tall back.

“I know of a woman who will shelter you. I will take you to the city of the Wyldfae, Wyldplace, where she dwells,” Thirteen says, as they both sit on the horse’s back, trotting down the hill. “Many young royals have lived in the Wyldplace. It is a rite of passage for the Sidhe and Unsidhe courtiers to live close to the Above, here Underground. Those that sense your power will not question it, even if their curiosity behoves them to approach you in askance. I gave my loyalty to your King when he lived there as a young man, before he became Goblin King.”

“Was he Goblin Prince?” Sarah asks, holding onto his green cloak as the land levels out and they speed up to a canter, the bells she’d heard before tinkling loudly from where they’re tied to the horse’s bridal.

Thirteen lets out a laugh that sounds like those bells. “My King is the son of the Queen of Summer, Titania,” Thirteen tells her. He sounds wistful. “I used to belong to the Summer Court. My King’s brother favoured me. So yes, my King is a prince – but no Goblin Prince. Only should he have a son, would there be a Goblin Prince and in truth, they would be a Duke of the Underground. Calling them _Goblin Prince_ would be as true as it is pejorative.”

“And a girl?” Sarah asks, as if this answer does not matter to her – as if there isn’t a baby growing in her belly, put there by the Goblin King, however unknowingly. Can her child even claim titles, as a bastard?

Thirteen laughs again, though it is quieter than before. “If there were a princess belonging to both the King and Queen of the Goblin Kingdom, she would be known as the Lady of the Underground – the Queen Who Will Be, while you are the Queen Who Is.”

Sarah startles. “A matriarchy?” It dawns on her that it must be, if she’s hearing this Wyldfae correctly. Her son would be a duke – but her daughter would be the future queen, because she is the queen _now_.

 _I am the Queen of the Goblins,_ Sarah thinks, realising that Jareth’s words as he kissed her body and brought her pleasure were more than just romantic platitudes.

“Indeed, Your Majesty.” Thirteen nods. He leads the horse towards a forest, a dirt path that… _hums_ , almost, up ahead. “We will take the quick path to the city, my Queen. You are unfamiliar with the Underground – you should close your eyes until we leave the trees.”

“I trust you,” Sarah says, closing her eyes and pressing her face to the back of Thirteen’s cloak. The Wyldfae has been nothing but kind, humouring her ignorance and answering all her questions. In her mind, the Labyrinth croons to her, sounding quieter and quieter the further away they ride, as if saying goodbye. Thirteen snaps his reins, shouting _yah!_ Her grip on the man tightens, before she feels a rushing sensation, as if she’s being pulled by the currents of the river.

There are sharp sounds, like animals crying out, like children giggling – Sarah doesn’t know why Thirteen wouldn’t want her to see the sources as they pass.

“A few minutes, Your Majesty!” Thirteen cries and Sarah’s heart speeds up, for he sounds scared. She feels them move side to side – and then she hears what Thirteen is frightened of.

It’s laughter. Not happy, childish laughter, but a murderous, blood-chilling cackle. There’s a crack of a whip and Sarah can hear hounds baying for their blood.

“Faster!” she gasps.

“It is after Midsummer, my Queen – all power wanes with the changing of the seasons,” he says, voice harried. “I am slowing our pursuers as much as I can, but I am weak and they are Knights of the Nevernever, seeking to drink power from the blood of the unwary now that Queen Mab claims Awnsidhe and they can act freely.”

 _Mab,_ Sarah thinks, the name sparking a memory of folklore. _Mab, Queen of Winter, a dark being with an equally as dark knight._

“Just keep looking ahead,” Sarah orders him, keeping her eyes screwed shut. “Focus on us, not them.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Thirteen says, before gasping, “and not to be overly familiar, my Queen, but if you do carry a babe and we are taken, use it against them. None would harm a woman with child, even if they would sacrifice that child once they breathed air.”

“I’m three months along!” Sarah cries, feeling Thirteen’s posture change.

“Then I will get you both to safety, my Queen,” he says, voice stern as he charges the horse onwards. The rushing feeling intensifies and the hounds continue to bark – but the tone of the cackles changes, the cackles themselves turning into cries of outrage.

Then, the sun shines brightly behind her eyelids. The horse still runs on, Thirteen not slowing them even as he says to Sarah, “You may look again, my Queen. Wyldplace lies ahead.”

Sarah raises her head, looking behind them to where a dark forest lays, the shadows of men on horses prowling the edges with red-eyed dogs at their feet. She looks forwards, eyes trailing over the wheat fields and the long river, over which dozens of bridges lead between different parts of a vast, sprawling stone city. It reminds her of what Rome might have looked like, once, but with sandy stone like in the Labyrinth rather than white rock and marble.

“It’s pretty,” Sarah says.

“It is a lovely place, full of revelry and learned scholars,” Thirteen tells her, finally slowing the horse to a walk as they approach an incline down into the valley. They pass a fine horse and carriage, driven by a woman in striped livery who turns her nose down at the sight of them. Sarah peers curiously at the carriage, but the blinds are shut on the inside windows.

They pass them quickly and Thirteen mutters, “That was a courtier of the Summer Court. A High Courtier. Most likely, they were visiting their son or daughter somewhere in Wyldplace.”

“Is everyone a courtier?”

“No,” Thirteen says. “You are either a noble, a courtier, a knight or a Wyldfae – if you are Sidhe, that is,” he amends. “If you were not the Goblin Queen, Your Majesty, I believe you would be welcomed among the lower courtiers as Champion of the Labyrinth, regardless of your heritage. It takes great skill and cunning to defeat such a place. You might even be Knighted for it.”

“Knighted,” Sarah repeats, amused by the concept. “Sir Sarah,” she tries it out loud, not expecting for Thirteen to jerk sharply, twisting on the saddle to look at her in shock.

“My Queen!”

Sarah stares, frowning, “What?”

“My Queen,” he repeats, looking half-horrified, half-faint. “You told me your name. I can feel the truth in it.”

“Why is my name important?” Sarah asks.

“Names are power,” he whispers, bowing his head. “My Queen…you are gracious and kind in sharing your name. Where you are _Sarah_ , I am Derwen.”

Immediately, Sarah shudders, feeling a strange power flowing through her. Her tongue tastes like loamy earth and her ears ring with a harken call, singing _Derwen_. Sarah remembers this feeling – it is what she felt when she said Jareth’s name for the first time. _Oh,_ she thinks, knowing what Thirteen means when he said _names are power._

“I- I still call you Thirteen, right?” Sarah whispers. Thirteen nods, silent. “Thank-you for sharing your name with me. You are kinder than I and far braver.”

“…I would have called anyone else manipulative, for those of your power take many names,” Thirteen eventually says, looking forwards. “But you do not take liberties. You do not ask that I walk beside you as you ride, or that I die so you might flee our pursuers.”

“I wouldn’t!” Sarah says, horrified.

Thirteen nods. “I know.”

He falls silent and Sarah’s mind is too busy absorbing the information he’s given her for her to make conversation. The slow ride to Wyldplace takes the better part of an hour and once they are in the city, the noon sun has risen and Sarah’s stomach is grumbling. She wants peanut butter – and blames her baby for the craving when she wants to add cloudy lemonade to that list.

Her companion smiles. “My home is not far from here. I live in the lower levels of Mistress Cailin’s abode – I would see you in her company. There are many things I might teach you of the Underground, but Mistress Cailin knows the stuff of your rank.”

“How?” Sarah queries, “What does the title ‘mistress’ mean?”

“The word ‘mistress’ is the same as ‘mister’, belonging to the common Wyldfae,” Thirteen says, “but Mistress Cailin once held a different title before becoming one of us. Wyldfae are neutral until they hear the Call, either during war or when they find the right liege to serve. If you wish to know Mistress Cailin’s titles, you must ask her.”

“I will,” Sarah nods.

Mistress Cailin turns out to be a pale-skinned, red-haired woman with lines around her eyes. She dresses in dark red velvet, curls piled up on top of her head. If she were human, Sarah would think her to be forty at most, but she is not human, as seen by her pointed teeth and ears. She is a Wyldfae – one of the _Sidhe_ , just like Thirteen, just like Jareth

“Goblin Queen,” Mistress Cailin greets her, to Sarah’s alarm. “You may not remember, but we met once, in a dance inside a dream.”

“You were there?” Sarah questions.

The woman inclines her head. “I hung off our dear Goblin King’s arm briefly. I took my measure of you, then and I am glad to see you here, now.” She steps forwards, linking her arm with Sarah’s. “Call me Cailin. I will teach you what you need to know.”

“Mistress,” Thirteen clears his throat, Cailin glancing his way with a raised eyebrow. “Mistress, my Queen is with child.”

“Hey!” Sarah snaps, “That’s my business! Don’t go around telling anyone and everyone – in fact, don’t tell anyone at all.” She glowers, Thirteen’s eyes going wide before he swiftly kneels.

“My Queen, I meant no disrespect.”

Cailin snorts. “Get up, Thirteen. Her ways are strange to you, but you will learn them as she learns ours. She’ll only be human for a short time.”

A chill goes through her. _A short time?_ Sarah looks to Cailin with blank eyes. “What?”

The Wyldfae woman scrutinises her. “You really know nothing of magic,” she observes quietly, before shuffling them all inside. Sarah waits for an answer, watching her without pause. Cailin gives her one as soon as they’re shut away in a dining room, where Sarah has no care for the antique furniture or the great oil painting over the fireplace.

“You have a Fae babe in your belly,” Cailin starts, seating her at the table, then sitting on the corner beside her. “You’ve been in the Above the last thirteen years, but when you won your little brother back, you conquered the Labyrinth and claimed the Goblin King your equal.”

“How do you know that?” Sarah interrupts, but Cailin doesn’t answer her, only continuing her explanation.

“Magic took a hold of you then, claiming _you_ ,” Cailin lectures, “and you would have started feeling it Call you, now the thirteen years of waiting are up. The Labyrinth sings for you. The Goblin Throne awaits you. It would have been slow, over another thirteen years – but then you got with child and somehow ended up here. Your transformation from Human to Fae won’t be slowed anymore.”

Fear bubbles up in her. “But I want to go home,” she protests.

Cailin shakes her head, firm. “You are home, Goblin Queen. What life you had Above will have faded, now. Your own blood won’t recognise you.”

“No!” Sarah shouts.

“Yes. Mayhaps your brother might remember you, touched with magic as he is,” the elder woman states, “but you wouldn’t know for sure until he looked at you. Magic protects its own.”

Sarah looks at her hands, tears filling her eyes. She never cries – and now she will have cried twice in a single day. Her shoulders shake and Cailin doesn’t offer her condolences; though, there is a tea service summoned from somewhere. Sarah thinks she sees Thirteen bring it, but she can’t be sure – her upset is great.

“You should be glad,” Cailin eventually says in a light voice, picking up a fancy from a china plate as Sarah regains a measure of composure. “Your baby would have died, up in the Above. Jareth would have felt that, though _I_ thought he’d not seen you in person since you were a girl.”

Cailin bites into her biscuit, just as Sarah frowns, thinking, _she knows Jareth’s name?_

The Wyldfae munches for a minute, then points at her stomach. “Say, how _did_ my brother impregnate you?”

“Your _brother?_ ”

“Yes, my brother,” Cailin smiles, eyes gleaming and _oh, she looks like him._ It’s in the eyes, how they crinkle at the edges and how her lips turn up in a straight smile of mischief. “I’m eager to find out how he slipped up into the Above without using the Doors.”

Shocked, Sarah can only shake her head. “It- we-” Sarah stumbles over her words before stopping, starting again with a new breath. “It was in a dream.”

“…interesting. Magic is a fickle force of nature. He is the Dreamweaver, though – it’s not surprising, when one thinks for more than a moment.”

“I don’t want him to know.”

“If you still raise your child to call me _aunt_ , then I will gladly help you conceal them,” Cailin claims, to Sarah’s surprise. Cailin pins her with a _Look_ at her disbelief. “My brother knows better than to spread his seed like this. We’re a virile family – our mother and father have had sixteen children, which is unheard of among the general populace. As the Goblin King and Goblin Queen, you are also both more likely to conceive, due to your compatible magics. That he has not even _checked_ on you…”

Cailin seems disgusted at her brother’s behaviour and when Sarah examines her situation from an outsider’s perspective, it’s clear to her that yes, as the more-informed party, Jareth should have known better. Sarah is not blameless – she instigated the event. But she did not know that magic in dreams could cause physical consequences and for that, Jareth is at fault.

“What if he _does_ know?” Sarah asks in a low voice.

The Wyldfae snorts. “Do you think that my possessive, egotistical brother would have let Thirteen bring you here if he had? No – he would have approached you by now, insisted you come down Underground. He’s not that stupid.” She shakes her head, offering Sarah her hands. “I offer you my pledge: I will not reveal your child’s existence to Jareth the Goblin King without your permission and neither shall I allow them to be discovered by Jareth the Goblin King before that time.”

Sarah reaches out, taking her hands. Like with Thirteen, she _feels_ again. _It must be magic,_ she thinks. Cailin feels like the depths of the ocean and the safety of Ludo’s embrace – but then the Labyrinth inside her wells up and Sarah gasps at the harmonisation she hears when they’re brought together. They’re like two sopranos standing side by side, singing two different parts but always in sync.

“Who _are_ you?”

Cailin smiles, eyes like stars. “That’s for you to figure out on your own. Do you accept my oath, Goblin Queen?”

Sarah thinks of what it all means for her to do so. Saying _yes_ means she is accepting that she is staying – that she is never going home to the Above and becoming Fae. According to Cailin, it would have happened eventually. _Also_ according to Cailin, Toby might live to remember her, where her parents won’t. She might see him one day and feel his embrace again, should Cailin show her the ways to leave the Underground.

 _And even if I found another way to get Above, my baby would die if I stayed._ Sarah puts a hand over her middle, wondering if she’s imagining it when she feels the Labyrinth again, adding a new third part that can barely be heard.

“I accept your oath, Mistress Cailin,” she whispers, deciding her fate. Cailin smiles.

“Welcome to the Underground, Your Majesty.”


End file.
